Pure
by Jander Panell
Summary: Axel, the slayer. Demyx, the hopeful. Zexion, the vampire. The undivinable Superior. The world they live in his hardly pure, but still they struggle to make sense of it. Spinoff to Tainted but Beautiful, series of drabbles.
1. Father

**Pure**

_Axel, the slayer. Demyx, the hopeful. Zexion, the vampire. The undivinable Superior. The world they live in his hardly pure, but still they struggle to make sense of it. Spinoff to Tainted but Beautiful, series of drabbles._

Pairings: Assorted. In this drabble, onesided Vexen/Zexion

Rated: M

Warnings: Everything for _Tainted _and then some. This drabble deals with incest (in a way), daddy issues, and, in a very roundabout manner, corporal punishment.

Notes: No inspiration on _Tainted, _but I wanted to explore the world again, so this crapped out. Plus, I have writer's block on my main project. Which is the reason I wrote this story so I could get out the word to you.

I am embarking on an epic, 100+ chapter project titled **Broken Memory**. I may have advertised the prelude to the story in _Tainted, _I don't remember. Anyway, I want you all to read it. This story will have time traveling and dimension traveling and zombies and dragons and master/servant relationships and more mindfuckery than _Birth by Sleep. _And that's a lot of mindfuckery. The heart of the story is a heterosexual couple, and I know you're all going, "Ewww, het!" and you'll probably ewww more because it's a _married _couple and the hero is in his _thirties. _Ewww ewww. But whatever, there are some slash side pairings and even a bit of femslash. So there's something for everyone. Plus, the main character is bi. SO GO AND READ IT ON MY FICTIONPRESS, **BICKAZER**.

On a completely unrelated note, it seems this site has screwed up the formatting on _Dear Diary. _Like hell if I feel like fixing it.

* * *

_i. Father_

Among vampires, children are rare. Strictly speaking, children are not even necessary, since pureblood vampires are immortal. But even purebloods, so confident that they will live to see the Apocalypse itself, know that some of their number get culled every year. Mostly from those horrid vampire slayers, unnatural half-human creatures who can fight purebloods on even ground. Abominations. Vexen has devoted much research to the existence of slayers, and he knows they are a scourge on this earth, as unnatural as those gas-guzzling, carbon-belching machines humans are so found of.

Vampires, purebloods especially, exist to be humanity's natural predators, keeping humans in check. Slayers disrupt the natural balance of this ancient system, and like any disrupted ecosystem, once the slightest tremor touches it, it falls apart like a house of cards.

But the slayers exist much as purebloods hate them, and so purebloods know they must propagate their kind. Among purebloods the fertility rate is astronomically low. Marriages are common, arranged to link together families (though the family system has technically been overtaken by covens, it still exists to a degree), but children are so, so rare.

Children are such a joy.

Vexen hates it when he has to visit the few vampire children currently extant in this world. There are seven. Six under the control of the Coven of Thirteen, of which Vexen is a part, of course. So every year, when the entire coven gathers to celebrate and feed, the children are dressed in their finest and paraded in front of the highest-ranking coven members by beaming-with-joy parents, all the while the Superior pontificates on how the children represent the new hope of the coming generation and other such nonsense.

He hates it. Every time he looks at the children, their sweet, pale faces, their huge, unblinking eyes, he sees his own son.

Vampires don't like grave markers because they reminded them of humans. Vampires commemorate their dead with a feast in his honor and never discuss him again.

But Vexen commissioned a gravestone--a small, nondescript one, with just his son's name carved in it--and he visits it every year. The day before the coven gathering, if he can help it. He visits and sits on his heels in front of it and imagines.

This year his son will be almost a century old. Vexen can imagine him dressed in the Northern Coven uniform, resplendent in furs, his pale face filled with the haughty beauty it was already beginning to develop when his life was cut so tragically short.

As the years go by, though, he finds it more and more difficult to see his son's face. Instead, he sees another haughtily beautiful face. So beautiful it's almost mocking.

Zexion.

Oh, Zexion. One of the finest examples of an incubus, if not _the _finest, that Vexen has ever met. In ordinary circumstances Vexen would never find himself attracted to an incubus. He knows what incubi and succubi--truly the lowest-ranked among purebloods--are like. Giggling, empty-headed fools dreaming solely of the one act they are meant to perform. Such nasty, nattering things who are too fond of teasing him.

But Zexion is different. Zexion is beautiful as they all are, but his is a cold beauty, the beauty of an ice statue. He is thin and pale and his full lips pull up easily into a sneer, and his eyes, oh his eyes are deeper than the lakes in the cold northern land in which Vexen grew up. It only takes one look, one glance, into those eyes before he finds himself hopelessly entranced.

He loves Zexion. He wants Zexion. He wishes he were Zexion's lover. He wishes he were Zexion's father.

He wants Zexion to be too many things. Vexen is aware of how terrible a burden it is, but he _wants _it.

He tries to justify it. Says that Zexion is so young, less than a century (just as his son would have been, had he not been killed in his seventeenth year!), and he has no vampire to really mentor him. No one wants to mentor an incubus, after all. Incubi learn to do what they must from their instincts. But Zexion is no ordinary incubus. He thinks. He reasons. And he is so, so, painfully vulnerable.

Vexen says he must step in and take charge of Zexion's education. To act as his mentor, his parental figure even, in order to guide Zexion through the ways of the vampire world.

"I am not a child," Zexion hisses, leaning forward so that their noses are almsot touching. "Don't you understand? I am not a child and I am not _your _child! I've survived this long without you sticking your nose into every damned thing I do!"

Vexen gets angry, and when he gets angry he gets defensive. "I am only trying to do what's best for you!"

"You don't realize, do you? You don't understand. _You _don't know what's best for me. Aeleus doesn't know what's best for me. The _Superior _doesn't know what's best for me. _I _do, and I alone."

The words cut, they cut and cut and cut like knife after knife being driven into his frozen heart. Heated knives. Zexion lurches in his vision and he doesn't see Zexion any longer. He sees his son, the beautiful blonde boy with eyes just like Zexion's. The boy who said the exact same things.

_You say I'm too weak and too naive to do anything. So does Mother, so does the Superior. But _you _don't really know. None of you know. Only _I _know._

"Go to your room," he hisses, caught in the regrets of the past. "Once you're standing in the corner with your hands to the wall I'll come in and I'll--"

"You cannot do anything to do me, old man," Zexion says, his voice infinitely cold.

"Enough with the attitude! Silence, unless you want to take your punishment right here and now--"

"As I said, you _cannot do anything."_

He feels it. The pain blooms across his face, sharp and acute, and Zexion is smirking while he holds his claws in the air, dark blood trailing down their pearly lengths. _Vexen's _blood. Vexen feels at his face, numb. Not just from pain, but from surprise.

"Good night," Zexion says, and walks away with those delicate, mincing steps that are unlike anything Vexen's son would have affected. And Vexen remembers. He remembers that Zexion is not his son; Zexion is a pretty little incubus whom he has been trying and failing to court.

Of course, an incubus attacking the head of a pureblood family is a crime. And crimes must be punished. Not by fathers but by constables.

The constable spends an inordinate time alone in a room with Zexion. When they come out, Zexion is clinging to his arm, snaking his own slender body around the constable's much broader form, and keeping up a stream of seductive whispers into his ear. The constable's face is pink and he lurches when he walks, like he's drunk.

"Unfortunately we must be parted soon," Zexion says, loud enough for every stunned passerby--Vexen included--to hear. "But do keep in touch, won't you? My beautiful, my strong--"

"Oh, I will," the constable says with a laugh, and kisses the top of Zexion's head. "Don't take flight too soon, little bird."

Zexion sighs and twirls on the spot. It is so unlike Zexion. But such silliness is expected of an incubus. Only Vexen can see Zexion's desperation. Zexion seduced the constable to save himself from punishment, a punishment he knows will involve the Superior.

He is diabolically clever, that boy.

But he is still a boy.

Later that evening, as outraged murmurs flutter through the halls of the Northern Coven and rumors fly of a new constable, one of the special _cut ones _who were created solely to deal with incubi and succubi related crimes, arriving soon, Zexion knocks on Vexen's door. His knock is soft, tentative. It reminds Vexen so much of his son that his heart breaks.

"Ienzo," he says.

Zexions steps in, his head lowered, his hands clasped behind his back.

"I am truly sorry," he says. He sounds sincere, but Vexen no longer knows. Not after he witnessed that show Zexion gave the constable earlier. "I attacked you and that was wrong. And then I escaped the punishment I know I deserved."

What does Zexion hope to gain from this? For a brief moment, Vexen allows himself to hope. To hope that maybe Zexion really is contrite and regretful, and that he will obey Vexen from now on. Even as he thinks this Vexen knows it isn't true.

"Is that all?" he asks, carefully.

"No." Zexion looks up. "You know what I want, don't you? I want you to punish me."

Oh, those words. How Vexen has longed to hear them. How he has dreamed of this moment, of Zexion finally submitting to him, of promising to be an obedient son or lover or even worse, both. Vexen trembles. He suddenly wishes that he were dead. Death cannot be as complicated as this.

"I'm sorry," Vexen says, stepping back. "But I cannot."

"Why not? Please...Father?"

He looks up, a teasing smile dancing at the corners of his lips, his eyes so deep and unfathomable and _horrible. _This is a game. Vexen sees it, in one instant, with the crystal clarity of the ice he so loves. All along, Zexion has been playing a game. He may be more intelligent than other incubi but that doesn't change his basic nature. He uses his intelligence to go beyond mere seduction.

He wants to manipulate. To tug at a person's hearstrings and make them dance, just like a puppetteer. Zexion doesn't get off on sex. Zexion gets off on power.

"Get out," Vexen says coldly. "Get out get out get _out! _Out, this instant, you little...monster!"

Zexion laughs as he flees, his laugh becoming hysterical when Vexen starts hurling objects after him. Breaking the mirror that was his wedding present. Shattering the clay mug that his son molded for him. He hurls objects after Zexion and curses, curses that beautiful face that is too much like his son's.

But Zexion comes back. He always does. Not one or two nights later or even a fortnight. But he does. He comes back and slinks into Vexen's lap and throws his arms around Vexen's shoulders and murmurs that he's sorry. He's shivering. Vexen can feel every up-and-down movement of his shoulder blades, that's how thin he is.

It's a game, Vexen knows. But he's weak and his son's loss is still too recent, will never heal.

He will take care of Zexion, time and again, even when he knows Zexion doesn't deserve it. After all, the boy needs a father.

* * *

Why is this in present tense? Because I've just finished reading _The Hunger Games _and _Catching Fire, _and I liked the immediacy the present tense gave to the storytelling, so I'mma go try it out. And speaking of which YOU SHOULD ALL GO READ THOSE BOOKS THEY ARE FUCKING GOOD. Seriously. A certain scene in _The Hunger Games _actually made me cry--the first time a book has ever done that to me. You'll know when you get to it, because you'll cry too. If you don't cry you don't have a heart. Good and safe, good and safe indeed.

If you haven't gathered already, this is meant to be a series of drabbles with each centering around a different character. I plan on all the stories taking place before the events of _Tainted, _since I don't want to spoil the ending that is a long time coming.

Remember to review. And read **Broken Memory**, too.


	2. Drawing

**Pure**

_Axel, the slayer. Demyx, the hopeful. Zexion, the vampire. The undivinable Superior. The world they live in his hardly pure, but still they struggle to make sense of it. Spinoff to Tainted but Beautiful, series of drabbles._

Pairings: Assorted. In this excerpt, mild AkuRoku and very very _very _slightly hinted AkuNami.

Rated: M

Warnings: Everything for _Tainted _and then some. This drabble has...cursing. And that's pretty much it.

Notes: Yeah, fanfiction-wise I'm pretty much a ghost. Sorry, I think I've pretty much lost interest in it. Granted, don't take my words at face value because I tend to do this, losing interest in fanfiction only to return with a vengeance. I doubt this time will be different.

For now, though...I've actually been rereading _Tainted But Beautiful _lately (out of boredom) and that's inspired me to do two things: one, post this, which is the original rough draft version of the opening scene in chapter 25, "Council." I cut it because it was becoming way too long, but it has some nice character interaction and character development so it'd be a shame to just forget about it either. Think of it as an alternate version of that scene. Yeah, I may start putting "deleted scenes" and stuff in here too, because I have quite a few of them. Remember, I did spend about two years writing that story. Also, on a more pragmatic level, it doesn't require so much work to post deleted scenes. XD

And secondly, remember all my talk about turning_ Tainted _into an original story? Well...I've kind of done that. Not really, though! But I have plotted out and begun to write an 18-chapter original vampire story that I'm posting on my fictionpress account, titled **Fear Not The Light**. It takes some inspiration from _Tainted_ but is mostly its own story and universe. Nonetheless if you find it interesting you might want to take a look at it! Link here:

**http:/www(dot)fictionpress(dot)com/s/2946562/1/Fear_Not_The_Light**

Shameless plugs out of the way...please enjoy this little deleted scene!

* * *

_ii. Drawing_

"What're you drawing?"

Namine looked up at Roxas, surprise in her eyes - the same surprise that he felt. Ever since he'd entered her drawing room - a strange room where all surfaces, even the tables and chairs, were white - and sat down with her to doodle the hours away, he hadn't spoken. He'd seen how hard she was concentrating, her brow furrowing, as she bent over her sketchbook, intently scratching with her colored pencils. Though Roxas wasn't an artist, he felt he could understand - it was the same serene concentration he felt when poring over books on vampiric lore or practicing basic staking techniques.

If he had his way, he wouldn't even be here in the first place, but Axel and DiZ had as much told him and Namine to run off and go play while the grown-ups sorted things out. Apparently, somehow during the night Axel had been persuaded to cast his lot with DiZ, though he insisted on calling a council of vampire slayers in order to aid them against Xemnas. DiZ and Axel had argued marvelously over that, waking Roxas up in the middle of the night. He and Namine had gone to see the argument, and together they'd somehow managed to convince DiZ to allow the council, though he insisted that it was too soon. Namine had cut him down when she reminded him, "But DiZ...I thought you wanted to get your revenge sooner?"

So he consented. And now...now DiZ and Axel were organizing the coming council. He didn't know what Zexion and Demyx were doing, but figured they were staying out of trouble if Axel wasn't complaining and-slash-or ranting about them. As for him, all Axel had done was pat him on the head and suggest he go off with Namine. Which was why he was here now.

"Oh...well..." said Namine, a little awkwardly. She blushed and looked down, clutching the sketchbook tight to her chest like it was a precious child. "Well...I'm drawing...drawing _you_."

"Me?" Roxas straightened, startled. "Er - why would you wanna do that?"

"It's not just you," said Namine quickly, setting the sketchbook back down with a loud thump on the table. "It's - I was drawing everyone. You, Axel, Demyx, Zexion..."

"All of us?" Curious, Roxas stood to try to get a better look at the sketchbook. Namine quickly pushed the sketchbook to the side so that he couldn't see it.

"Sorry...it's not finished," she said.

Fair enough, Roxas decided, but he couldn't help the powerful sense of curiosity burning inside him. He knew it was a bit childish, but still, he wanted to see how Namine drew him. No one had ever drawn a picture of him before... And he also wanted to ask Namine why, though he supposed it was probably some weird artist reason.

She'd resumed her work, her head lowered so he couldn't see her face, intently scratching away at the sketchbook with a yellow colored pencil - Roxas supposed she was doing his hair now. He fidgeted a bit uncomfortably in his seat, having long abandoned his pitiful attempts at doodling (which mostly ended up with him drawing a series of checker designs, because those were the only things he felt he had the talent enough to draw). In a way, Namine's silence unnerved him. He was used to hanging around Hayner, Pence, and Olette - who with all their friendly squabbling had never allowed him a moment of silence - and Axel, who could go on for hours during a lesson, and Zexion, who seemed to simply enjoy hearing himself gloat. Namine's quietness was something entirely new, and he didn't know if he quite liked it...

He wanted to _talk _to her. To the quiet pale girl who always clung by DiZ's side, even though he got the impression that she didn't feel particularly affectionate towards him. She'd been put with him out of circumstance alone, yet he still didn't know what she thought about all this. DiZ fighting the Coven of Thirteen...the slayer council...

About the people who were staying with her. About the impetuous, foul-mouthed (and rather foul-mooded) Axel; about...well, Demyx, who was in love with a vampire, and the vampire himself...

And Roxas. Half-vampire, half-boy, around her age, now shoved into the same room as her. No wonder she was nervous...no wonder she kept trying to avoid his stare, throwing herself into her drawing so she wouldn't have to pay attention to her surroundings.

The strangest thing was that - that it _annoyed _Roxas. He didn't want her to look away, to treat her like something to be feared...

He wanted her to _like _him.

As soon as the thought rose in his mind, he swallowed it down like bile. Just what the hell was he thinking? He had Axel, Axel was enough - he shouldn't expect anyone _else _to accept him. Certainly not the daughter of vampire slayers. Wanting to be someone's friend - it was too new an experience for him and it almost scared him in a way. He'd never actively sought to become anyone's friend before; Hayner, Pence and Olette had come to him, and Axel the same.

Quite sure that he was blushing - and worse, not knowing why - Roxas lowered his head and picked up his pencil again to resume his doodling...

But then the door swung open. Roxas dropped the pencil, and Namine immediately whirled around and hugged the sketchbook to her chest again, staring with wide, fearful eyes at the lanky figure in the doorway.

"Well, this is fucking inconvenient, but Marluxia's already arrived - that idiot, if you say come on time he comes an hour early, _always_ - so yeah, just thought I'd let you know. Your choice if you wanna go speak with him. _I _wouldn't waste my time if I were you, but do what you like, got it memorized?"

With that, he slammed shut the door and stormed off - Roxas could have sworn he could hear Axel huffing. Despite himself, he felt a smile tug at his face; he'd forgotten just how immature Axel could get when he was irritated...it made him seem much younger than the world-weary, almost elderly, way he sometimes behaved, as if he was a soldier who'd seen too much in his time. It was just another facet of what made Axel - _Axel._

Roxas heard a faint sound, a strange sound that he didn't recognize immediately. He turned, alarmed, wondering if Namine was choking - but then saw, to his shock, that she was holding a hand demurely in front of her face and giggling, a faint pink flush tingeing her cheeks.

"Um..." was the most articulate thing Roxas could think to say.

"He's very..." Namine cast a smiling glance at the ajar door. "_Opinionated_, isn't he?"

A grin broke out across Roxas's face again, before he could think about what was happening. "Yeah," he said. "That's Axel for you."

As he spoke, a faint spark of hope rose in his chest - maybe, just maybe, he and Namine had found something to bond over.

* * *

Yeah, there's not a lot to it, but I do find myself wishing I'd included it. For on thing nobody seemed to really mind the mega-long chapters so I shouldn't have been too worried about length, and for another it gives both Roxas and Namine some desperately needed character exploration. Namine, especially, I feel I dropped the ball with, and there's no excuse since she is one of my favorite characters. Ah well.

Please review, and if you'd deign to take a look at **Fear Not The Light** I would be grateful to you forever! ^^


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